


Barbecue

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: M/M, They are doing it for art, Unsanitary behaviour, meat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23969176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: An utterly surrealistic picture.
Relationships: Marilyn Manson/Tim Sköld
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Barbecue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.
> 
> This was written by my spiritual brother at the same time as my cheese story because of the same conversation, and it is as or even more avant garde.  
> Essentially, we won't stop until all the members of the band and all the edibles have been defiled.
> 
> The original text hasn't been posted anywhere, but I have permission from the author to post this translation here.
> 
> Enjoy.

"Soggy."

Legs of infinite length on the bright blue oilcloth and a polaroid held in hands that are made for anything apart from holding it.

An utterly surrealistic picture.

Their blood is clean and both of them are sober, so neither of them has an excuse for this. Except for the damn polaroid. Tim doesn't think it can serve as an excuse either, but the owner of the infinitely long legs needs excuses. Excuses bring meaning.

_Soggy._

Of course, it's soggy. It's beef. Raw meat. And also it is a process of making a marinade for the barbecue.

"Fuck, stop wriggling."

Tim isn't even sure he's talking to Manson, because why even talk to a person who has raw meat in his asshole?

He's talking to the polaroid. Most likely.

This thing isn't even arousing.

This fucking thing can't but arouse, that's where the problem is.

If a sober person with clean blood who put three perfectly good, juicy pieces of raw beef in another person's ass can have any problems. And in reality he can't, and they both know it.

No problems whatsoever. Everything is A-okay. Everything is smeared in meat juice. The oilcloth. Tim's fingers. Infinitely long lengs - they should be mentioned separately, in a note written in the copperplate hand. With an especially artsy squiggle at the end.

And the ass too, of course, but this isn't important and should be mentioned only at the very bottom of the document, in a microscopic font, under two asterisks. The line with one asterisk refers to identity of the creator of this idea. The line says Who Gives a Fuck.

They're saying things that have nothing to do with what they're doing. Manson is lying on his stomach. Manson is wriggling, trying to see how all of this looks. Tim is leaving stains on the photographs. And he's got a boner, but that won't be mentioned anywhere, won't be mentioned at all.

It's not pornography. It's not even a horror movie.

Tim loses sight of the polaroid, it just disappears from his hands, vanishing in thin air, and Tim gives one of his hands to Manson, helping him shift into a position that is more suitable for what comes next. 

Manson sits on his heels, and the raw beef falls onto the oilcloth. All three pieces, one by one.  
They end up in Tim's hands. They are also briefly licked by Manson's tongue, so Tim snorts and says something that is germane, something about narcissism, probably.

Barbecue?

Some more minutes go by. Drops of the meat juice sizzle, falling onto the coal. The meat gradually acquires a more edible, appetizing look and finds its way onto the plate.

"Soggy?"

Tim is sure it isn't, it simply had to be said, just so that the state that isn't mentioned anywhere in the document becomes mutual.

When Manson finishes the last piece, Tim will have an opportunity to evaluate the effect.

Not earlier than that.

__________________________________________________________________________________


End file.
